


The Man with the China White Roses

by CaptainAmelia22



Series: The Spandex Wives [2]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M, Grief/Mourning, Irony, Resurrection, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-26
Updated: 2012-10-26
Packaged: 2017-11-17 01:33:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/546164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainAmelia22/pseuds/CaptainAmelia22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katherine Nash was a cellist at the Boston Pops but when she gets stood up by her then boyfriend, Phil Coulson in the beginning of May, she accepts a job offer to join the Portland Philharmonic.  Everything seems to be going well; she's moved on from Phil, she's falling in love with Portland and she's loving her new job.  Or so she tells herself.  And then she receives some  devastating news and Kate finds out she's not as good with her new life as she thought.  How will she sit in her dressing room and know she'll never receive the China White Roses Phil somehow always managed to send her?  How can Phil Coulson be gone?  After months of mourning, though, she receives a mysterious gift after a monumental concert and her life changes once more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Man with the China White Roses

Katharine Nash kept telling herself she loved her new apartment in Portland, Oregon. But as she was unpacking the boxes scattered through the downstairs she had to admit Portland would be more interesting if she had someone to share it with. 

But those thoughts were dangerous; the guy she had been dating before her move had been married to his work and he had made it known she would always come second. So she had accepted a job in the Portland symphony and packed up her life in Boston, given him a call telling him what she was doing and moved here. If he wasn’t ready to settle down then she wasn’t going to waste her life waiting for him. 

Kate was not a patient woman. 

They hadn’t really been dating anyway. They’d just gotten dinner a few times, he’d spent the night at her apartment a couple nights and he had attended the Boston Pops where she played first chair in the cellos. But while they may not have been “going out” they had enjoyed each other’s company; she had enjoyed his deadpan humor and he had enjoyed her music. 

In so many ways they had been compatible but then one night in early May he had called, telling her he was going to be out of the country for a while and that he wasn’t sure when he was going to be back state-side and that he was sorry.

Kate was sorry too. She broke up with him and moved to Portland. 

It had seemed like a good idea at the time, the perfect revenge, but now it just made her feel petty and self-obsessed. 

One morning in early June she woke up to the sound of her doorbell buzzing. She frowned; nobody knew where she lived and she hadn’t ordered anything on Amazon, so who could this be? 

The bell buzzed once more and she groaned, pushed her sleep mask off of her face and slid out of bed. Grabbing her robe on her way out of the room she headed through the maze that was her living room to the front door. She slid her arms through the sleeves of the robe and pulled her black hair into a ponytail as she stood in front of her door.

“Just a second!” she shouted as she belted the silky robe and rubbed make-up out from under her eyes. The bell buzzed briefly and she scowled at it, irritated. 

She quickly unlocked it and threw it open as whoever was behind it buzzed the bell once more. “What? What do you want?!” she said angrily to the dark haired man dressed in an impeccable grey suit and dark sunglasses. 

He was frozen on her doorstep with his finger resting on the door bell. “Hello!” he said cheerfully, not even fazed by her anger. “Are you Katharine Nash, a cellist formerly of Boston, Mass?”  
She narrowed her eyes; who was this guy? He looked really familiar but she couldn’t place him. Was he one of her fans from the symphony? She resisted rolling her eyes and said instead, “Maybe. Who wants to know?” 

The guy just grinned and said, “Mind if I come in? You never know who’s watching. Don’t worry, Miss Nash! I’m not some creepy stalker, I just have some news I need to give you.” He held his hands up in a peaceful gesture as she started to close the door in his face. 

Kate stopped and her eyebrows rose, “News? About who?” 

The guy sighed, his former cheerfulness gone. Now he looked immeasurably sad, like his best friend had died. He took his sunglasses off and rubbed his eyes, “Miss Nash, it’s a very long story but suffice to say it’s news about the guy you dated in Boston.” 

Her heart stuttered and she instinctually took a step back opening the door wide. “Has something happened to him?” she asked, suddenly worried, despite her earlier animosity towards the man. 

Her guest sighed as he stepped into the apartment and closed the door. “I’m afraid so, Miss Nash. We should probably sit.” 

He took her elbow gently and led her to her couch. They sat and he turned to her, “I should probably introduce myself first; I’m Tony Stark, CEO of Stark Industries.” He held out a hand for her to shake and she laughed in disbelief.

“Now I know where I’ve seen you! I was at one of the gala’s your company put on in New York a few months ago! I highly doubt you’d remember me; I really don’t know how anyone could remember anything after downing that much liquor.” She shook her head as her guest shifted uncomfortably. 

“Uh, yeah. I’m working on it. Miss Nash can I ask you a personal question?” He was staring at her like she was some amazing new specimen of bird never before seen. She fidgeted before nodding. “How long did you and Agent, I mean, Phil-date?” 

She froze and stared at her hands; she didn’t want to think about that man. 

He nudged her gently and she sighed. “Phil Coulson and I dated off and on for two years. He traveled a lot but when he was in Boston he always made a point of taking me out to dinner and seeing me play.” 

Stark nodded and rubbed his goatee thoughtfully. “Did you love him?” he asked quietly. 

Kate stared at him and then laughed bitterly, “Why do you think I moved to Portland?” 

Stark nodded and muttered, “I thought so.” He rummaged in his suit pocket and pulled out an envelope. He stared at it for a second and then handed it to her. “I’m sorry Miss Nash, but this is going to come as a shock to you.” 

Kate stared at the envelope in her hands and glanced at him. He nodded and she slid her finger under the flap, breaking the glue. Inside of the package were some bloodstained trading cards and a picture. 

Her heart seized as the items fell out onto her lap; she knew who those cards belonged to and that was a picture of her and Phil on one of the last nights they had seen each other. He had his arms wrapped around her with his lips pressed to her ear and she was laughing with her hand cupping the back of his head. It had been the night he told her he loved her…

“What does this mean?” she asked, her voice cracking. In her heart of hearts she knew, but she needed it to be said out loud. 

Stark sighed and patted her on the shoulder as a tear fell onto one of the trading cards. “I’m afraid Phil Coulson was killed suddenly a few weeks ago. I’m very sorry.” 

A rushing sound filled her ears and her vision began to grey. She vaguely heard her guest call her name but it seemed to be coming from a far ways away and she felt herself begin to fall. Her vision finally blacked out and she sagged onto the couch. 

Tony Stark gazed at Phil Coulson’s girlfriend and sighed sadly. This just sucked all the way around. Why did Phil have to get himself killed? Why did he feel the need to confront Loki? It was just so stupid. 

He settled Kate more comfortably on the couch and pulled a blanket over her. When she had fainted the Captain America trading cards had slid from her lap but she was still holding the picture of her and Phil. Tony gazed at that picture; he had found it in Coulson’s locker, which SHIELD had been preparing to clean out, and he had stolen it and the cards. Phil’s girlfriend deserved some closure, no matter what the Director said. 

Finally he gazed around the quaint apartment, noticing some framed pictures of her and Phil lying around and he sighed. “This just plain old sucks,” he muttered as he headed out the door. He glanced at the couch and pulled out his phone. “JARVIS, set up a watch on Miss Nash’s place would you? I want to make sure she’s going to be okay.” 

“Of course sir. The young lady should be stirring soon.” 

“Great. Let’s just keep an eye on her for now. Give her some time to grieve.” Tony nodded to Happy who was waiting for him. 

And then they were gone.  
Kate woke slowly and immediately wished she could have stayed asleep; she sobbed as her heart wrenched painfully at the thought of Phil being dead. She didn’t want to believe it. And yet…she hadn’t heard from him since that last night in Boston. He had said he would call her when he was state-side; he had wanted to work out the issues between them. 

The weeks following Stark’s visit Kate functioned in a daze; she under-performed at the orchestra, didn’t go out with her friends and refused to tell anyone why she was so catatonic. She gathered up all of the pictures of her and Phil, wrapped them back in their newspaper shrouds and packed them in a box marked “Boston.” She never looked at that box again. 

She did keep the cards and that last photo in her bedside table though. Sometimes she would wake in the night and turn on her lamp and pull them out of her drawer and stare at them. She just couldn’t believe Phil was gone. It was too much to think about. 

Almost a month had passed after Stark’s visit and Kate finally felt like she had gotten her grieving under control. She had to stop wallowing, she was the featured soloist at the Portland symphony tonight and she had to perform well or she would lose her position in the symphony. 

That night she moved around her apartment, reveling in her nervousness. It was the first emotion she had felt that wasn’t either extreme sadness or extreme rage and she loved it. She was in her black dress running around trying to find her shoes and her good bow when her phone rang. Kate grabbed it quickly before the opening strains of Beethoven’s 5th ended and answered without looking at the phone’s screen.

“Hello, it’s Kate!” she said cheerfully, grabbing her silver heels and slipping her feet into them. 

“Hi Kate! It’s Margot! Ready for tonight?” 

Kate nodded and laughed. “You betcha babe! We’re going to rock their socks off. When are you getting here?”

Margot chuckled and Kate could hear one of her friend’s favorite hipster bands playing the background, something about finding somebody to love, and she grinned. “I’ll be there in five minutes hon! We are going to play the shit out of Mozart tonight!”

And then she was gone. Kate finished strapping on her shoes. Straightening, she caught sight of herself in the mirror by the foyer and she paused. 

Her black hair was styled in what she called her concert chignon, black curls contained at the back of her head in a simple twist and held by some combs and clips she’d inherited from her mother. She absent-mindedly ran her fingers through a few strands of her hair and remembered the first night she and Phil had slept together.

He’d removed her combs so slowly, so intimately and while he hadn’t said a word, the look on his face as her black hair tumbled down around her shoulders spoke volumes. He had loved her that night…

With a silent snarl she tore the combs out of her hair. Throwing them onto her coffee table she shook her hair out so it lay tumbled around her shoulder haphazardly; this was against symphony protocol but at this point she didn’t care. She didn’t want to be reminded of that man tonight of all nights.

Staring at herself in the mirror she realized she didn’t want to wear this black dress anymore; it reminded her of death and of late-night milkshakes in Boston diners and his deadpan voice cracking jokes. Groaning, she reached back and undid the tiny buttons; she didn’t want to wear this tonight, so she wouldn’t. Stepping out of the black cotton, right there in the middle of her living room, she walked to her bedroom closet and took out a red strapless gown. 

Gazing at it thoughtfully, she remembered when she had bought it. She’d been planning on wearing it at her last concert with the Boston Pops; she’d secretly hoped Phil would be there to see her in it. He’d only ever seen her in her black recital gowns or her underwear. 

Smiling, she took the dress off the hanger and slid herself into the soft silk. It hung to the ground and hugged her curves perfectly. The draping was perfect and she stared at herself in the mirror. She was, in Margot’s words, fierce. Her wild black curls tumbled down her back and the red gown made her seem more passionate than ever before.

Phil would have loved this dress…

She jumped when a car horn blasted through her reverie. Without a second glance at the combs on her coffee table or the mirror she passed on her way out the door she left her Portland apartment to play her first recital for the Portland Philharmonic.

She and Margot were too busy chatting about the symphony to notice a black Acura sedan parked across the street from Kate’s apartment. Even if they had noticed it, they wouldn’t have paid it any mind. There were always cars parked outside of this apartment complex and even if the men inside the car wore black suits and dark sunglasses on a dark and stormy night in the middle of Portland, the two women would have shrugged it off as the peculiar nature of this city.

After all, who really cared about what a Portland cellist did during her evening hours?

**

Kate had to admit, despite the rockiness of the past month, that she had indeed “played the shit out of Mozart” tonight. She had had three standing ovations and there were more roses thrown at her tonight than she had received in all of her years of playing. 

She couldn’t help smiling at herself in her private dressing room and running her fingers through the soft roses on her vanity. All around her were red and yellow roses and the tiny room fairly reeked from their scent. 

She refused to acknowledge the absence of the Laevigatae white roses. He was dead. There would be no more white roses from China. 

Firming her jaw she stood, ready to make an appearance at the symphony after party, when a sharp knock on her door made her pause. For a second she waited to see if the person on the other side would announce themselves or just throw open her door; when nothing happened, she swallowed and slowly opened it. 

She felt her knees turn to water and an odd rushing sound filled her ears at the sight of bouquet of thirteen white Laevigatae white roses sitting on the floor in front of her door. 

Not able to stand any longer, she collapsed in front of the bundle of perfectly white flowers and stifled a harsh sob that tried to slip past her lips. 

Her fingers stretched out to grasp a note that was attached to the bouquet. Shaking, she pulled it free and flipped it over so she could read the words scrawled in familiar handwriting.

“You played beautifully tonight. The sight of you in that red dress drove me crazy. Is it just me or have you gotten better since Boston?” 

As she read the last words she heard the sound of someone stopping next to her; thinking it was just someone from the symphony she ignored them, that is, until a rough hand grabbed the hair at the back of her skull and a cloth covered in a sweet smelling liquid was shoved under her nose. 

The last thing she saw, as she sagged to the floor in a faint, was the white roses being stepped on by a man’s pair of shiny black leather shoes.

They were the same kind of shoes Phil used to wear when he was alive…

Phil sent me those flowers, she thought vaguely, he saw me perform and he sent me Chinese white roses…

And then everything went black. 

**

“You didn’t have to manhandle her Simmons! She would have gone quietly if you’d asked politely.” 

“I’m sorry sir, when you said ‘obtain the target’ I thought you meant by any means possible.”

Kate’s eyelids flickered at the sound of a familiar voice raised in irritation. Her head was swirling though, so she didn’t open her eyes but she did smile at the first man’s sigh of exasperation. Callused fingers stroked her cheek and she lay still as the first man spoke again, “You’re an ass Simmons. You take your orders too seriously.” An expensive cologne washed over her and she took a deep breath, reveling in the familiar smell. Then he spoke to her, “Kitty? Kitty, can you hear me? Come on, baby, open those eyes.” 

She struggled with herself, this was just a dream. A bizarre dream but in it he was still alive and talking to her. She should keep her eyes closed and keep sleeping. That way he’d never leave her.

“Kitty, I can see your eyelids flickering. I know you can hear me, come on, open your eyes and look at me.” 

“No,” she said shortly, her voice cracking. “I don’t want to open my eyes.”

He laughed quietly and stroked her cheek again, “Why?”

She smiled at his touch and his mild voice, “Because, Phil, the moment I open my eyes you’ll be dead again and I’ll be in my bed crying.” 

His hands left her then and she heard him shift away from her. She peeked one eye open just to see if he really had disappeared; he hadn’t. He was sitting in a metal chair next to her, staring at her with the most pained expressions she had ever seen on his face. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his blue eyes pleading with her. 

She sighed and opened her eyes all the way. Despite her fears, Phil Coulson still sat in front of her. Apparently very alive and well. 

“You should be sorry,” she snapped, trying to sit up. A man she hadn’t noticed, probably ‘Simmons’, hurried over to her and helped her rest against the pillows. She glared at him for a second and then turned back to her undead ex. “So what’s the story Phil? Are you dead or are you alive? Because if it’s the latter, you’re an ass and that was an awful trick you pulled. If it’s the former then I want to be knocked out again and put back to bed.” 

She folded her arms and raised her eyebrows, waiting for his response. Simmons chuckled and leaned against the wall; she ignored him, and kept staring at Phil. He sighed and folded his hands, avoiding her gaze. 

“It’s a long story Kitty,” he muttered, not looking at her. 

She snorted and shrugged her bare shoulders, “I’ve got all night, mister. Give it your best shot.” 

Phil looked at her finally and sighed, “Actually we don’t have all night. We’re running behind schedule as it is and thanks to Simmons here we may not get out in time.” 

She frowned and said warily, “Get out in time for what?”

Phil stood and held out his hand towards her, “Our flight. I’m here to ask you if you’d like to be my girlfriend again Katherine Nash.” 

She stared at his hand, her head swirling and she scowled, “What does a flight have to do with me being your girlfriend?” she asked, thoroughly confused.

He chuckled, “Everything.” 

She continued to scowl at his proffered hand and then she raised one finger, “I just have one question: Why aren’t you dead?” Phil opened his mouth to respond but she stopped him, “Uh-uh, buster. Tell me right now, why aren’t you dead? I’ve spent the past months grieving for you and now you’re here in front of me so tell me right now or I’m leaving.” She folded her arms again and squared her jaw.

Phil sighed and dropped his hand, “I was privy to some information that could get me killed if my identity was revealed and in May it was. So I had to die and some people took it upon themselves to alert you when it really wasn’t their job to do so.” She raised her eyebrows at the mild irritation in his tone and remembered Tony Stark arriving unannounced on her doorstep in all his snarky glory.

She snorted with barely restrained laughter and then frowned again, “What do you mean, privy to information that could get you killed? You make it sound like you’re James Bond or something.”

Phil just stared at her mildly and held his hand out once more. Her eyes widened at his lack of response and she stared from him to the other suited man in the room. “Wait, you are like James Bond?! You’re secret agents?”

Simmons chuckled, “Get a grip lady, we’re not secret agents. We work for a secret agency but that doesn’t make us sleazy assassins with good taste in women and cars,” he said cheerfully as he glanced out the window.

Phil just sighed and held his hand out once more, “It doesn’t matter who I worked for Kitty. I have one last mission and I want to take you with me.”

She swallowed nervously, and tentatively placed her hand in his, “Can I go home and pack some things first?” she asked, her heart hammering in her throat.

Phil smiled gently at her and squeezed her fingers, “We took care of that for you during your recital. Everything’s ready for our departure.” 

She frowned and asked, “How did you know I’d come with you?” 

He pulled her gently towards the door and said over his shoulder, “Because you had my Captain America trading cards in your bedside table and a picture of us under your pillow.”

She couldn’t help the small laugh from slipping through her lips as he led her to a black sedan parked in front of the hotel on the outskirts of Portland. 

He’d come back for her and he’d known she missed him. 

As they drove to the Portland airport she asked, “So what’s this last mission you have to do?”

He glanced at her and held out a file folder for her to read, “What are your thoughts on high school students and spiders?” he asked, his enigmatic smile back on his face.

She chuckled, “In general?” 

He smiled and said calmly, “As a whole.” 

She frowned, “I love them?”

“Great, we’re going to be helping a kid named Peter with an odd spider problem he has.”

“Lovely,” she whispered. “So where does that leave us?”

He smiled and clasped her hand gently, “Together I hope. If you’ll have me.”

She laughed softly and kissed his lips, “I’ll have you, even if you’re a principal at a high school.” 

He leaned forward and returned her kiss, “Fantastic, Miss Nash.” 

And they went to New York City to help a troubled teenager named Peter who had a special problem. Peter seemed to really like spiders.

Which always creeped Katherine out. And gave Phil more headaches than not. 

But it was okay, because the secret agent and cellist had each other.

And they lived happily ever after.


End file.
